


the maze/the moon

by weatheredlaw



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Parent Death, Prose Poem, References to Illness, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 20:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: you are caboose. and you are not afraid.





	the maze/the moon

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for season 17 finale; short piece exploring caboose's time in the labyrinth.

_What are you afraid of?_

“Nothing,” Caboose whispers.

_There has to be something._

“No,” he says. “There’s nothing.”

_Open your eyes, show me what you fear._

“I can open them, but I need you to understand.”

Caboose opens his eyes.

         “I’m not afraid.”

 

* * *

 

your name is caboose, and this is what you fear:

         you fear your father dying (he is dead)

         you fear your best friend leaving (he is gone)

         you fear you will be alone (you never are)

there is a creature whispering inside your head, but you are still exactly who you were a moment before; you are still exactly who you have always been; your home is always changing and you...you have changed, too, but not in the ways that would be expected.

                           you forget things, and that’s alright;   
                           you lose things, but you always manage to find them;   
                           you _get_ lost, but someone always figures out where you’ve gone;

                  your name is caboose, and the creature wants to know — what _terrifies_ you;   
                  in the dark, when everyone has gone to bed, when the canyons and corridors   
                  and choruses are quiet, what is it you fear the most?

 _nothing_ , you whisper into the darkness.

 _that’s not good enough_ , the creature says;   
                  but he will have to be satisfied, you think;   
                  because you’re telling the truth, and your eyes are open —

         and you are not afraid.

 

* * *

 

Everything keeps changing, and by the sixth time it does, Caboose feels pretty used to this. He’s been through Church shouting at him, and he’s been through his first weeks in basic. None of it is particularly _frightening_ , but it does bother him, just a little. His old CO had never really liked him, mainly because whatever he asked them to do, Caboose could manage it. Two hundred push-ups? Done. Obstacle course in under two minutes? Done. Treading water with a forty-pound bag? Easy.

So when he looks up and realizes he’s on the _moon_ , he’s actually...kind of excited.

“That’s my house,” he says. He drops his gun and runs up to the front door. “That’s my house!”

“ _Miguel!_ You need to come inside, dinner’s getting cold.”

“And that’s mom!” He tries the door, but it doesn’t open. Inside he can hear the girls running for the table and his mother calling his name. “It’s locked.”

“Got a key?” someone asks, and Caboose turns around.

“...Dad.”

There was a time when Caboose’s father had been as broad shouldered and full in the face as his son. There was a time when his hair was dark and his eyes were bright. Caboose, when he remembers his father, makes sure to remember _that_ version of him.

He does not _like_ this one. The one he watched hatch from the shell of what his father used to be. The one that crawled into their lives and latched on with such ferocity, Caboose has spent the last ten years scrubbing the memory of him from his brain.

This version of his father is pale and thin. It’s what the medicine and the illness did to him, in the last months of his life.

“No.” Caboose turns to face him fully. “I don’t have a key.”

“Well. Maybe I’ve got one in here,” the man says, feeling weakly along the pockets of his sweater and pants.

Caboose shakes his head. “You don’t, dad. That’s okay.” He glances around. “I...know this isn’t real.”

The man stops. “... _How?_ ”

“Because you’re _gone._ You died and that’s...that’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t, when it happened. It was sad. It was like…like _really_ sad. Because you left mom and me and the girls and things were really hard after that. But you died and I’m...learning that that’s okay.”

“No, _how_ do you keep—”

“I dream about home all the time,” Caboose says quietly. “I dream about this house that was way too small for us, and I dream about mom...about mom cutting my hair and you and her dancing in the living room. I dream about the girls and I dream about coming back to them.” He looks around. “You know, you did a _pretty_ good job at trying to get this right. Except one thing.”

And the man in front of him isn’t his father anymore. Labyrinth groans in frustration. “What?” he demands. “What could I have _possibly_ gotten wrong?”

Caboose sighs and points up. Above them, the sky is littered with stars, and behind them, the Earth looms large over the horizon. “They never let us see where we were,” he says. “We were never allowed to look at other planets.

“They didn’t want us to miss home.”

The illusion dissolves around him. Caboose’s stomach growls.

“You…” Labyrinth snaps his fingers, and a table appears in front of them. “You are certainly a worthy opponent. Is there _nothing_ you fear?”

Caboose takes a seat at the table. There are cards, but they don’t look like any set of cards he’s ever played. After a few minutes, he feels like he knows the rules, and the two of them sit in companionable silence.

“Frogs,” Caboose decides. “I really do _not_ like frogs. I mean, I’m not _afraid_ of frogs, I don’t think. But I don’t exactly _like_ them.”

Labyrinth sighs. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Caboose considers this, then shrugs. “Maybe I’m just not afraid of anything. You know, Santa _did_ mention that.”

“...Santa.”

Caboose nods. “It’s kind of a long story.” He draws another card and feels pleased with his hand, setting it face up on the table. He looks at Labyrinth, tipping his head to the side before he asks, “What are _you_ afraid of?”

Labyrinth looks up. Folds. Disappears.

Caboose looks around.

“What kind of a person hosts a card game without bringing any snacks?” he calls into the void.

No one responds.

Some questions, he figures, just don’t get answered.

Seems fair enough.

 

* * *

 

you are caboose, and you were born on the moon.

         when you are a boy, your sister is born; then another; then another; and then another.   
         when you are a teenager, another sister is born; then another, and then another.   
         when you are eighteen your father dies; this is the last time you really remember crying.

you are caboose, and you were born on the moon. your mother’s name is _jimena_ and she tells you she loves you. you have seventeen sisters, and they all love you, too.

you are caboose. someday, you will meet your second family in a box canyon where the sun never sets; you will find them on either side; you will lose everything there; you will die there; you will be resurrected there; you will forget it happened; he will leave you there.

                  you are caboose, and you are not afraid.

                           (your hands tremble; this isn’t your fault)   
                           (your knees ache; this isn’t your fault)   
                           (your scars keep you up; this isn’t your fault)

         labyrinth admires you; he has said so a dozen times.   
_who’s there_ , you ask; the darkness doesn’t answer —   
                  not the first time.

you are caboose, and you were born on the moon. you hope you will go back, you hope your mother is still there, you hope your sisters still remember your face.

                           you are caboose. and you are not afraid.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ weatheredlaw


End file.
